


L'amitié est la similitude des âmes

by onlyacoffee



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Drabble Collection, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, I have such an enormous Feuilly bias, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-07-12
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2017-12-19 06:55:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 5,210
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/880768
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onlyacoffee/pseuds/onlyacoffee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>« Ce que j'apprécie le plus chez mes amis: l'amitié » - What I love the most from my friends is their friendship </i>
</p><p> </p><p> </p><p>Drabbles and ficlets to celebrate the different friendships (and sometimes more?) that make up the group which almost became historic. </p><p>  <i>(added 13/12/13: two more drabbles from my tumblr :)) </i></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Enjolras & Combeferre - Monday Morning

**Author's Note:**

> These drabbles were written with nothing else in mind than to celebrate friendship and warm hearts. Since this is something I feel is very much needed in this fandom, I will be adding them as I write them! as always, comments are very much appreciated. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> modern AU.

Enjolras’ whole posture is tired, his movements slow, and his wet hair falls limply on his shoulders in perfect curls. Combeferre blinks blearily, trying to chase away the last remanants of sleep from his eyes - he still can’t make out his friend’s expression, but he can get the dark circles, the pinched lines around his mouth. He can’t see what’s in the pan Enjolras is hunched over either, but the smell is telling. Pancakes. Buckweath pancakes.

Combeferre takes off his glasses and rubs his rubs his eyes.  
“Good morning,“ he calls, wincing as his voice breaks.

"Good morning to you too," Enjolras replies, and with his eyes finally open, Combeferre can see his initial assessement of Enjolras’ state were right. His voice is quiet, exhaustion dripping from every

"Did you get any sleep? I didn’t hear you come in last night…"

"Of course I did," Enjolras turns back to the pan. “You were sleeping like a log, though. Any dreams?"

"No. I slept well, thank you, " Unlike you, Combeferre doesn’t say. He doesn’t have to ask. Enjolras will tell him in time, and if he doesn’t - well, it can wait until after breakfast. Speaking of which -

Combeferre throws a questionning look at the pan of buckweath pancakes. Enjolras shrugs, but his smile is more relaxed than Combeferre expected it to be.

"I felt like it," Enjolras says simply. “I though it would please you."

Combeferre shakes his head and smiles softly back at his friend.

"It smells wonderful. Of course, thank you."

“I’m glad."

Then then coffee machine beeps, and Combeferre takes out two mugs from the cupboard. Enjolras throws the pancakes in the plates and they quiet prepare to begin another day.


	2. Courfeyrac & Marius - Shelter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for tumblr user theonlycheeseleft! 
> 
> canon era.

Courfeyrac’s hair was almost always perfectly curled, his fashionable clothes neatly pressed, his cheeks rosy, dimpled by the charming smile that adorned his round face –  
\- or at least, the Courfeyrac Marius was used to was like this.

The soaked, shivering and pale student on the doorstep was quite different. So different, in fact, that Marius almost did not recognize him at first, but surely enough, these bright green eyes, that pink cravat, and, oh, there were the dimples!

"What happened?" Marius asked incredulously, opening the door further to let his friend in.

"What does it look like happened?" Despite the words (and the obvious exhaustion behind them), Courfeyrac’s tone was friendly and light. “I got caught in the rain!"  
Marius – to whom Courfeyrac has lent his favourite umbralla earlier that morning, felt his face drain of colour.

"I’m sor-"

"Nonsense!" Courfeyrac wrapped his arm, dripping with rainwater, over Marius’ no-longer-dry shoulder. “I had my hat to protect me from the miserable mood of our beloved Mother Nature!"

Marius looked around, but there was definitely no sign of Courfeyrac’s hat. He raised an eyebrow.

"Where is your hat, then? It doesn’t seem to have protected you much."

"Ah, yes, well. Indeed it hasn’t. Although it would certainly have done a better job if it had stayed on my head, wouldn’t it ? Unfortunately, it preferred to stay at Joly’s room. Or Bahorel’s. Or the Musain. To be honest, I can’t quite remember."

"Either way, we’re both soaked, now." Marius entangled himself from Courfeyrac’s arm. “Let me just get you something dry to wear, and then something warm to drink?"

"Ah, much obliged!" Marius heard Courfeyrac as he went back to his room to pick an acceptably dry shirt. “You’re a good friend, Marius Pontmercy!"


	3. Jehan & Bahorel - Awake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for tumblr user pilferingapples :)

The first thing Jean Prouvaire noticed as he woke up was his arm – or rather, the lack of feeling in his arm.

This, in itself, was odd. He usually woke up slowly, and late, almost always after the sun had risen over the trees in the park his room had such a lovely view on.

Which led to his second conscious realisation - that he was not in his room. It was early, far too early, the streets still quiet, and the room in which he was laying was far too dark. There was a odd odour floating around – which wasn’t unual in itself, and so Jehan’s brain filtered the information away to think about later – and he was very warm.

The third realisation was that he was currently suffering from a pounding headache – and did not remember the night before.

Oh, and he still could not, for the life of him, move his left arm, because there was a large man lying on it, his face as red as his dishvelled waistcoat, snoring the morning away.

Prouvaire could feel Bahorel’s hot, sticky breath against his cheek.

"Bahorel," he whispered. “Bahorel, friend, you are sleeping on my arm and I need to move."

No response. Prouvaire reached up with his free hand and started patting the other man’s head.

"Oh, Bahorel, Bahorel, what will I do with you," he said fondly. His plea fell on soundly sleeping ears. “My friend, I do not wish to push you away, but you cannot stay there." His fingers found the back of the other’s neck.

Immediately, a deep moan left Bahorel’s throat. To Prouvaire’s ears, still unused to sound this early in the day, it felt as if the noise had shaken the walls.

But Bahorel, oblivious to the world, did not move.

lI n’est pas de douleur que le sommeil ne sache vaincre, Prouvaire quoted silently to himself. It was still far too early to fight.

And so he snuggled closer against Bahorel’s back, and tried to fall asleep again.


	4. Combeferre & Feuilly - Sprain

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for tumblr user midshipmankennedy!

“I have to admit,“ Combeferre frowned as he sat down on Feuilly’s bed, making the other wince slightly. “I usually expect this from Enjolras, even Bahorel or Grantaire, but not you. My mistake, then, was thinking you were more responsible than this.“

Feuilly flinched – not from pain, but from embarrassment, his pale cheeks flushing.

“I’m sorry.“

“Don’t be,“ Combeferre said firmly. “What happened?“

Instinctively, Feuilly wrapped his arms around himself.

“I think I tripped, on my way to work this morning,“ he bit his lip as Combeferre carefully moved his ankle. “It… hurt.“

“And you still walked on it all day anyway?“ Combeferre’s tone was not cold, but there was a definite accusatory hint to the curve of his eyebrows. Feuilly knew he had had no choice – he had to work, and he had needed to get home afterwards – and he knew Combeferre was aware of this as well. He still felt guilty, however, and looked down.

“Yes. The pain did not lessen as I thought it might, so I… I really am sorry. For disturbing you, and on a Saturday, too…“

Combeferre’s non-committal reply might have been him dismissing Feuilly’s worries or disapproval at the whole situation – Feuilly wasn’t sure. He admired Combeferre greatly, but they had only known each other for half a year and the other man’s quiet, accomplished intelligence was still intimidating to Feuilly. 

Combeferre kept examining the ankle; Feuilly could feel the blood pounding in his foot.

“Is it swollen?“ He asked, the silence becoming uncomfortable.

“Of course it is, since you stood on it all day,“ Combeferre sighed deeply. “It might be sprained, Feuilly.“

“Ah.“ That was what he had been afraid of.

Combeferre rose, pushed his glasses to his brow and rubbed at his eyes. 

“Either way, I’m afraid I’ll have to ask you to stay off that foot for a few days, if you can manage it. It doesn’t look too bad – you were incredibly lucky, my friend – but you should not risk a more permanent injury.“

“I understand.“ Feuilly didn’t know what else he had been expecting, sending for Combeferre like he had, but perhaps –

Combeferre must have sensed his distress, as he sat down next to Feuilly and wrapped a warm arm across his shoulder.

“You will be fine,“ he said, gently patting his back, his voice so soft and honest that Feuilly immediately felt reassured. “If you wish me to, I can go pick up the sticks and paints for you in two day if the swelling hasn’t gone down.“

Feuilly nodded wordlessly, and managed a smile. 

“Good. In the meantime,“ Combeferre settled next to him to the bed and picked up his bag. “There was this book I meant to show you. It seems like this is the perfect occasion to sit and read together, does it not? Now, let’s see…“


	5. Enjolras & Feuilly - Walk

The meeting continued well after sundown. Combeferre, struck with a headache, left first, nodding to Enjolras before walking out the door. He was followed shortly by Courfeyrac, who promised to make sure the other student was properly set in his bed, and gradually the others left as well, some smiling, some yawning, until Enjolras and Feuilly were left alone.

“Well, then,” Feuilly said eventually, stretching his arms over his head. “It’s been a good night, Enjolras, but I think I’ll retire to my own bed too - thank you.” He put his cap on, rose and grabbed his coat.

“Wait,” Enjolras put his pen down and looked up at him. “Would you mind if I walked with you?”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow. “My room is out of your way.”

“I know,” Enjolras shrugged. By the dimming candle light, his own tiredness finally showing in the limp curl of hair falling on his forehead, Enjolras seemed even younger, and infinitely more human. “But not terribly so. And to be quite honest, I think a walk would do me some good.”

“So, you are using me?” Feuilly carefully kept his voice light and teasing, to let Enjolras know he didn’t mean offence.

“Not at all, my friend,” Enjolras’ smile was kind and his tone reassuringly easy. “I was also hoping to continue our discussion, if you would like. Only I wouldn’t want to keep you here any longer.”

Feuilly smiled back and nodded. “Well, then, I would be glad to walk with you.”

So they left the café together, discussion falling into easy chatter as Enjolras let Feuilly lead him through the darker streets of the city.


	6. Jehan & Bossuet - Taraninism

“Is everything well?” Prouvaire approached Lesgles quietly, softly resting a hand on his shoulder. “You do not look like your cheerful self, my friend. Perhaps you are missing someone?”

Lesgles took a sip from his coffee and set it down with a grimace.

“Ah. He is taking Musichetta dancing tonight.”

Prouvaire rose an eyebrow and sat down next to his friend. 

“Why are not not with them?”

At this, Lesgles laughed; but it was a dry, choked sound, almost dejected, and Prouvaire clicked his tongue unhappily.

“We are having a fight, Joly and I. I meant to ask for his forgiveness, but he spent the night with her instead. I will have to wait until he comes back to give him the apology he is due, I suppose.”

“Ah,” Prouvaire looked away for an instant, clearly uncomfortable.

“Do you want to talk about it?” the younger man asked, his voice shy, but his hand rubbing comforting circles on Lesgles’ shoulder.

“No really. You are a lovely friend, Jehan, but I would much rather be dancing with her.”

“Well, then,” Prouvaire rose and smiled down at Lesgles. He held out his hand. “I may not have her delightful tiny hands nor her perfect white skin, but if your Musichetta will not dance with you tonight, then, may I get the chance?”

Lesgles stared at at Prouvaire, at his messay hair and light violet doublet, at his wide smile and sparkling eyes and laughed again, this time a much more lively sound.

He took Prouvaire’s hand and led his friend lead him away from the table.


	7. Joly & Bossuet - Hug

"You smell good," Joly says, burying his nose on Lesgles’s shoulder.

Well, that was - not entirely unexpected, so Lesgles simply laughs. The sound is too loud for the quietness of the room, and he winces.

"I just washed. Very kind of you to notice!"

Joly might have nodded, or caught his breath - either way, he does not detach from Lesgles’ warmth. He sways a little on his feet, however, and Lesgles moves to catch him.

"Tough day, Jolllly?" he says, voice softer.

"Yep," Joly replies, and the cheerfulness of his tone would not have fooled anyone (after all, Joly is a terrible liar - much better suited to medicine than to law, and Lesgles has always thought this was one of his friend’s best qualities). He offers no exaplanation, however, and he sighs. “I just want to sleep, really."

Lesgles kisses the top of Joly’s head and leads him to his room. He does not need to push - he knows Joly will talk when he will be ready, just like Joly knows Lesgles will be there to listen when he does - and inevitably cheer him up.


	8. Enjolras & Feuilly - Day Off

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for tumblr user notanearlyadopter!

"Really, you didn’t have to go through all this trouble for me," Enjolras said. Feuilly set down his bag on the floor. It made a loud thunk - Enjolras could guess of heavy with books it was.

"I don’t mind," Feuilly said as he took off his threadbare coat. "I have a day off as well, so-"

"Yes," Enjolras shook his head. "It’s your day off and you should enjoy it however you wish to."

Feuilly shrugged, sitting down on a chair next to Enjolras’ bed. “Combeferre and Courfeyrac are busy, aren’t they? And someone has to make sure you don’t start working again from your sickbed, simply because of you’re bored. And I want to,” he frowned slightly. “Unless you would prefer having other company.”

Enjolras touched his arm. “No, it’s alright. Thank you, really. I am glad you came to see me. I would rather be working, to be quite honest, there is still so much to be done, but…”

Feuilly raised an eyebrow, as if daring Enjolras to continue with that train of thought. Enjolras felt his cheeks redden.

"… but it has been a while since we’ve had to occasion to converse together," he finished.

Feuilly smiled, the tenderness of his expression warming Enjolras’ heart.

"It really has been. We can get coffee, later, if you feel up to it. Don’t worry," he squeezed Enjolras’ shoulder. "We’ll get through this day off just fine, you’ll see."


	9. Grantaire & Joly - Sleepy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for tumblr user 1001paperboxes!

"What is this?" Grantaire said as in strode into the room. "A sleeping Eagle?"

Joly, seated at the table, an arm wrapped around the shoulder of Bossuet - who had fallen asleep with his head between two empty bottles -, looked up.

"Yup!" He giggled. "Hullo, Grantaire! I think our dear friend has been drinking too much."

"So have you, Jolllly," Grantaire said as he collapsed on the seat next to the smaller man, close enough for their hips to touch.

"And you!" Joly exclaimed, lightly punching Grantaire on the shoulder.

Grantaire snorted. “Are you sure about that?”

Joly let go of Bossuet to take Grantaire’s face in both of his hands. He made a valliant effort at holding his friend’s gaze, but after a few seconds, another fit of laughter shook him and he all but collapsed on top of the sleeping Bossuet.

"Maybe I have," Grantaire smirked. "And I am also sleepy. Good night, friends."

And on this, he laid his head on the table and immediately started snoring.

"Oh no!" Joly clumsily shook his shoulder. "Don’t sleep, I cannot carry you both home! What shall I do?"

No response. Joly giggled again and looked at the table

"Oh, I suppose it’s just you and me now, dear table! You will have to be comfortable enough for me as well.”

He spread out his arms and put them around both of his friends’ shoulders and fell asleep as well in a matter of moment.

(Grantaire opened his eyes and looked at Joly and Bossuet’s sleeping faces; smiling, he wrapped his own arm around Joly’s waist and closed his eyes again.)


	10. Jehan & Feuilly - Picture book

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (a tiny one - from a "three-sentences" meme)

"Here, I wanted to show you this," Prouvaire said softly, and Feuilly held the large book, heavy and leather bound, the title a flourishing Voyages pittoresque along with the name of several foreign cities; for a moment his wary mind wondered how much such a book could have cost his friend, but he immeditely discarded the thought when he saw what was printed inside.

The book was simply stunning: large, colourful printed drawings of landscapes, moutains, forests, fields and cities - Feuilly’s fingers hovered above a picture of a long river and a bridge, before Prouvaire’s gentle hand turned the page to an illustration of a lakeshore lit by the slowly setting sun.

"It’s - beautiful," Feuilly whispered, breath catching in his throat.

Prouvaire smiled.

"Isn’t it? I would love to see these places with my own eyes, someday. Wouldn’t you?"

Feuilly’s eyes suddenly itched, and he could only nod as he carefully turned another page.


	11. Combeferre & Joly - Tissues

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for tumblr user mamzellecombeferre!
> 
> modern AU

"So you had to wait until you could barely stand?" Joly said from his kitchen.

In the living room, Combeferre burrowed deeper into the couch. That was definitely a touch of annoyance in Joly’s normally cheerful voice, that Combeferre excepted - but impatience, as well, which was really, really unfair. Combeferre was sick, his head was throbbing, and he while he’d admit he probably should have come earlier, he had enough of his own guilt and did not need Joly to add to it.

"Enjolras is at home," Combeferre said around the thermometer in his mouth, staring at the corner of the coffee table. He sniffled. "I was… I couldn’t let myself be sick, not when he -"

"No talking with that," Joly sat down next to him, taking the thermometer away away and handing him a box of tissue. "But yes, I see. That would have been a problem, wouldn’t it."

But his voice indicated he did not see at all why this meant Combeferre couldn’t take care of himself at home - or better yet, let Enjolras take care of him. Combeferre blew his nose - the sound was wet and pitiful and Joly winced.

"I love him dearly, you know that," Combeferre explained. "But he would have attempted to make his mother’s recipe for chicket noodle soup - I wouldn’t have been able to lie to him and pretend it made me feel better. Not - not today. I feel far too weak for this amount of stress."

"It’s fine," Joly’s voice wasn’t annoyed or impatient anymore, only deeply understanding. "You’re not running a fever, at least. You can stay here for tonight - though you might have to survive Lesgles’ soup, and I’m not sure if it’s any better…”

"It can’t be worse than Enjolras’, my friend," Combeferre shuddered, and Joly tightened the fleece blanket wrapped over his shoulders. "Nothing can be worse…"


	12. Enjolras & Amis - Spiders

Enjolras shudders; a cold shiver runs up his spine and he sits up straighter, eyes fixed on the table in front of him.

"Combeferre," he calls, voice chocked.

Combeferre looks up, and see. He raises an eyebrow.

"Please get rid of it," Enjolras says coldly. His eyes, as blue and wide as the day’s sky, refuse to leave that tiny spot on the table; the spot moves an inch towards him and he gasps.

"Combeferre!" One might have said, at their own risk of course, that there was a trace of panic in Enjolras’ voice at this point; one would be safer in describing his tone as urgent instead. “Please, quickly!”

"I’m not going to kill it, Enjolras," Combeferre says, unnervingly calm. "But get me a sheet of paper and a glass and I’ll release it outside."

Enjolras rises brusquely.

"Just get rid of it!" He yells, unfortunately drawing the attention of Prouvaire, sitting with Joly at another table.

"Oh?" Prouvaire asks innocently - and also infuriatingly carefree. "Enjolras - are you afraid -"

"No," Enjolras glares - physically at the table, mentally at Prouvaire.

Prouvaire ingores the mental glares and continues, blinking and having the nerves to smile.

”- are you afraid of a spider?”

"I am not! Their place is simply not - not - inside -“

Combeferre laughs and shakes his head.

"I will get rid of it," he says, and goes in search of a sheet of paper and a glass.

"Enjolras," Prouvaire says, "do you know, the only reason spiders have so many legs is so that they can hug you better?"

Enjolras lets out an anguished scream - mentally. Physically, he only shivers again.

"This is far too silly," he says and stalks out of the room, turning his back to Prouvaire and Joly’s laughter. "This meeting is over. We will meet again when I am assured there are no spiders in this room. Good night."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This drabble collection was meant to be exclusively friendship-centered... but I have a few more ship-oriented floating around on my tumblr. Would anyone mind if I started uploading these here as well?
> 
> As always, your comments are very appreciated!


	13. Courfeyrac & Feuilly - Snowy Day

It’s been hours already, and night has fallen. The weak moonlight shines through the shack’s only window - a tiny crack in the thin wooden wall.

Despite the darkness, Courfeyrac can see that Feuilly is shivering.

"You’re cold."

The sound of teeth shattering, then impatiently: “It _is_ cold.”

"But I am fine. You, on the other hand, aren’t."

"You’re not fine either, Courfeyrac."

A sigh.

"Maybe not my best, no, but I’m not the one who’s shaking like a leaf."

"… very funny."

"I thought so too, thank you."

Silence. Then -

"… when can we get out?"

"Enjolras will send word."

"Oh."

"Damn it. I should have brought a blanket -"

"…. didn’t think we’d be here all night."

"Yes, well," Courfeyrac chuckles, and if it’s forced, well, Feuilly is probably too out of it to notice. "I suppose a bed, a fire and a full pantry would have been too much to ask for such a hiding place, uh?"

Feuilly doesn’t reply. For five long minutes, the only sound in the room is his slow, shaky breaths, somehow made even louder by the winter winds blowing outside.

Feuilly’s breath catches.

"Feuilly?"

"… what?” The other’s voice is slower, sluggish, and Courfeyrac feels a lump in his throat.

"Don’t fall asleep on me. Hey, look, it’s snowing, see?"

"I don’t see anything."

"Just open your eyes. From the window, look.”

"Oh."

"It doesn’t snow like that often where I grew up," Courfeyarc huddles closer to Feuilly; he swears when he feels his friend’s ice-cold skin through the thin material of his shirt. "How about you, Feuilly? Where did you grow up? I don’t think you ever told."

"Ah, well…" Feuilly trails off, and Courfeyrac shakes him a little.

"Please tell me about it?"

Feuilly blinks, and begins to talk.

(Bahorel comes for them an hour and a half later, and Courfeyrac has never been happier to see him.)


	14. Feuilly & Bahorel - Elephants

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the page is from novel The Little Prince, by Antoine de Saint-Exupéry. :)

"I'm not doing this," Bahorel exclaimed loudly as he walked into the kitchen. "No way."

Feuilly raised the cup of coffee from the counter and stared at him, invoking every once of patience he possessed - form the expression on Bahorel's face, this conversation could be either frustratingly long or irritatingly short.

Either way, Feuilly would need that patience.

"What?" he asked, bracing himself.

"Your _book,"_ Bahorel slammed the small white paperback on the table. "I'm not reading it."

Now _that_ made Feuilly put his beloved coffee down.

"What are you even talking about? It's The Little Prince! I thought you wanted to read it at least once?"

"Well, yeah, not anymore," Bahorel grumbled, sitting down heavily on one of the kitchen chairs. "Just - get me a coffee, would you?"

"You can get you own coffee. What's wrong with the book? You only borrowed it fifteen minutes ago, you can't have read very far already."

Bahorel grimaced.

"It's just - it's creepy, okay?" Bahorel got up again and paced for a few moment before grabbing a mug and - angrily - pouring himself coffee. "Who the hell even puts that in a book..." he grumbled, stalking out of the room.

_Well,_ Feuilly thought. _That went well._

He glanced at the book one the table, left open at the beggining. Curiosity overtook him - what could have freaked Bahorel out that badly that he'd admit defeat over such a small book?

Feuilly took the paperback, and looked at the page it was left open at.

_... Bahorel is scared of hats? Can't be right, Courfeyrac wears hats all the time and he's never flipped out._

Couldn't be snakes either - Feuilly knew Bahorel and one as a pet as a child.

_So...  
_

_Oh._

You learn something new about your friends everyday, Feuilly figured, taking a long sip of his coffee.


	15. Enjolras & Courfeyrac - Mochaccino

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1st of coffee-related drabble requests! this one was for tumblr user re-sassafrass. :)

"Here!" Courfeyrac proudly set the cup on the table - Enjolras only eyed it warily.

"This doesn’t look like coffee, Courfeyrac," he said, staring at the murky, dark brown beverage. "You said you would make me coffee. This isn’t coffee."

"But it is!" Courfeyrac grinned. "Mochaccino, Enjolras. It’s chocolate, steamed milk, and -"

"Coffee?" Enjolras raised an eyebrow.

”- espresso, just like you like! And also,” Courfeyrac reached forward - Enjolras could feel his sweet, warm breath on his cheek - and dropped and enormous spoonfull of whipped cream on the beverage. “Chantilly cream!”

Enjolras wrinkled his nose.

"Come on!" Courfeyrac was still smiling widely as he sat down in front of his friend, holding his own mug. "It’s really good, you’ll see! Try it for me?"

It was incredibly hard to refuse Courfeyrac anything. Even for Enjolras.

"Alright," Enjolras sighed. "For you."

He grabbed the mug in both hands in took a sip - and, and -

(His closed eyes were an attempt to avoid Courfeyrac’s proud expression of victory, Enjolras told himself. Not an involuntary action born out of pure bliss at the taste of the coffee, Enjolras tried to convince himself.

Or, well, maybe just a little - it was really great.)


	16. Courfeyrac & Feuilly - P'tit Printemps

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 2 of coffee-related drabble requests! this one was for tumblr user midshipmankennedy/still-intrepid here on AO3. a "P'tit Printemps" (or Little Spring) is a sort of coffee drink at one of my favourite local coffee shops - and well, so's an orgasm. ;)

"Just an espresso, please," Feuilly smiles at the barista (it’s Tuesday, and on Tuesdays there are free refills on the daily special, and Tuesdays it’s the Italian roast and it’s his favourite, yes-)

"Wait, wait!" Courfeyrac interrupts, slinging an arm over Feuilly’s shoulder. "’Little Spring’? That sounds great, and oh look, Feuilly, there’s even maple syrup in it! You like maple syrup, right? You should try it!”

"Courfeyrac," Feuilly hisses through his teeth, because, yes, he’s noticed the absolutely delightful-looking item on the menu (right between the affogato and the ridiculous caramel-flavoured Orgasm drink) but Italian roast is very good as well and not nearly 7 euros per cup.

"It’s on me," Courfeyrac takes out his wallet, stopping Feuilly’s protest with a grin. "You can pay for lunch, okay? Besides, I want the whipped cream that comes with it."

Feuilly shrugs apologetically at the barista, who simply shakes her head and punches in the order.

"Throw in a carrot cake as well - with two forks," Courfeyrac continues, looking thoughtfully at the menu board, "And, for me - well, it’ll be an Orgasm, of course.”

And he winks.

(And Feuilly curses him, and himself, when he feels his face blush.)


	17. Enjolras & Feuilly - Espresso

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part 3 of coffee-related drabble prompts! this one was for tumblr user notanearlyadopter. er, this is started to lean more towards shipping. I hope no one minds if I share those here as well. ;)

Feuilly is not especially fancy with his coffee; he drinks so much of it it might as well be pernamently part of his bloodstream, but he’s never once complained or winced at the taste of too-bitter, too-flat cheap drip coffee.

Which is just as well, because he’s had the same old beaten up coffee machine sitting on the counter of his kitchen since Enjolras met him. It made frankly terrible coffee then, and it got even worse, but it’s kept Feuilly and his, ah, study partners - such as Enjolras himself - company during long nights (and even longer mornings).

So Enjolras is honestly a little sad the day Feuilly holds up a couple of tea bags, a sheepish expression on his face.

"Sorry," he says, shrugging. "I’m afraid the old coffee machine’s gone for good, this time."

Enjolras attempts a grave frown, but there’s an amused spark in his bright blue eyes.

"My sympathies," he says. "It was a brave machine."

"That it was," Feuilly hands him the cup of hot water. "I’m not sure if I can stand to replace it yet, though, so I might as well get used to tea."

Not that there’s anything wrong with tea, of course - Combeferre, an avid tea drinker, would absolutely hate the thought, and Enjolras would never betray him that way - but it’s just not the same, and definitely no good for, ah, studying. So one evening, before Feuilly’s small kitchen can completely lose the smell of coffee that he has come to associate with it, Enjolras shows up with a bag of freshly ground fair-trade beans and small, shiny aluminium Italian espresso maker.

It takes a few tries for them to get the hang of it, but it’s definitely worth it. And if, the next morning, Enjolras forgets it on Feuilly’s stove top, well.

(One more excuse to go study at Feuilly’s place more often, then.)


	18. Jehan & Bahorel - Kitten

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> from tumblr user lark-rather-than-dove!

"Hey there, buddy," Bahorel whispered. The kitten fit so snuggly in his large hands, minuscule paws holding on to his little finger. "Aren’t you the coziest little guy, uh?"

The kitten yawned, stretched, and burrowed further between Bahorel’s knuckles - but he didn’t wake, sleeping peacefully, contently.

"He’s the cutest damn thing," Bahorel said, his eyes never leaving the tiny creature. He raised a finger - fuck, his finger was as wide as the kitten’s head - and gently, carefully, stroked the thin soft fur.

From his side Prouvaire laughed - a light, bell-like sound and Bahorel realised how utterly fucked he was.

"He looks comfortable like that, don’t you think?" Prouvaire smiled softly, peering down at the kitten from over Bahorel’s shoulder.

"Yeah," Bahorel felt his heart swell. "I bet he is."


	19. Bossuet & Feuilly - Furniture

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> for tumblr user pilferingapples :)

"I still feel quite bad about it," Bossuet scratched the back of his head. He looked around, to the nearly-frozen streets, the closed doors. No one seemed to have thrown away a chair in the past few hours - at least, nothing that could be used as one until a better replacement was found.

"Don’t, please," Feuilly leveled a not-quite-glare in his friends’ direction. "Curse your luck, perhaps, but not yourself. It was an accident."

"Maybe," Bossuet admitted. "But it was your only chair."

"It’s fine," Feuilly sighed. "I’ll find another one eventually - besides," he smiled wryly. "I still have a mattress, don’t I? And the floor of my room is a lot steadier than my table; my brushes are less likely to roll and fall off of it."

Bossuet laughed, then, loudly, until the sound broke into a shiver. Still chuckling, face pink with both cold and amusement, he pulled his coat closer around his body.

"The destruction of my only chair might have been a accident," Feuilly continued, looking at his friend with a worried narrowing of his eyes, "but I doubt Joly would see it that way if you got ill and died from walking around in this cold with me."

Bossuet laughed again, rubbing his arms.

"Ah, but I’d make sure you leave you my chair, then!"

"Would you?" Feuilly raised an eyebrow. "All of the chairs you sit on are actually Joly’s, are they not?"

Any other man might have looked at least vaguely sheepish at the friendly jab, but Bossuet, of course, only grinned wider.

"That they are!" he put an arm over Feuilly’s shoulder, the gesture enough to warm them both, if only slightly. "And so, as this is not a viable option, we should keep looking."

"Maybe," Feuilly paused, looking back. "But I think… We just walked past the Musain - and we know that, at least, there are chairs there, right?"

"Quite comfortable ones."

Feuilly nodded in agreement.

"And coffee, too."

"What a fine drink!"

"I could perhaps borrow a chair and a coffee there, for the evening," Feuilly mused.

"And me the delightful warmth of the fire and food," Bossuet agreed.

Feuilly smiled. “Shall we, then?”


End file.
